It’s been very windy this evening. It’s windy pretty much every evening. In fact, I’d bet it’s been windy almost every evening since the first humans spent a night in Port Townsend. It’s like an episode of The Munsters, where the wind is always blowing. Sometime today, the wind blew over part of the fence in the back garden. The blackberry vines started to salivate. They knew they had fresh kill and a new opening into the garden. When I got home this afternoon, I had to prop some of the fence with a dirt-filled wheelbarrow and I had to tie another part to the arbor. Then I had to use my Zombie Killer to hack back some blackberry vines that were trying to slither through the new opening in the fence.

When I was younger, I loved the wind. I loved how it cleared the smog out of the L.A. Basin and we could see the mountains again. It generated some kind of weird energy and people and animals were much more animated than usual. It also brought out the pyromaniacs. The fires would start in the foothills, setting the stage for the annual mudslide season.

I don’t like the wind so much now. It always blows in Port Townsend in the evening. And it’s cold. It could be nice and warm during the day, but then the wind starts to blow in off the Straits and it’s time to put lots of layers on and tie things down. 

I like the wind when I go to bed. It’s soothing listening to the wind when you’re in a warm bed, lights out, and getting sleepy. As long as it doesn’t rattle windows or doors too much. The ghostly sounds of the wind in the eaves can lull me to sleep. But the sound of the olde storm windows banging in the wind can be unsettling: Will I have another “project” tomorrow, picking up broken glass or repairing a hinge on the storm window? When you wake up to fences blown over, tree limbs snapped off and laying in the yard, and leaves piled up in one corner of the yard, then it is not so soothing. 

When I was a kid, spending summers on Diamond Point, my uncles built an outhouse between two very large Doug fir trees using old railroad ties, 2x6’s, and some corrugated roofing. When the wind blew, the outhouse used to make odd sounds. We called it the “Creaker-Groaner.” None of us kids would use it after dark, but you could hear it until the wee hours of the morning when the wind finally died down. So when I hear the wind, I always listen for the sound of creaking and groaning.

I like sleeping in a tent when the wind is blowing. The tent shakes and you can hear the wind whistle through the guy lines holding the tent to the stakes in the ground. Many years ago, I was backpacking high in the Cascades in the Enchantments, well above tree-line The wind and rain and thunder grew very loud after I went to bed. I felt comfortable in my tent and sleeping bag until the wind started blowing so hard the tent almost went flat, the tent poles bending unnaturally in the gale. I laid on my back, staring at the top of the tent pushing on my face. I decided to spend the night leaning against the windward side of the tent to keep it from collapsing, my head dropping to my chest from a combination of falling asleep and the tent pushing on me.

I now have a big tent with two rooms, an air mattress, and a big, comfy sleeping bag. My Jack Russell loves it. It is not the kind of camping equipment one takes on a backpacking trip, but piled high in a car where you pull into a campsite, unload, take your time setting up tent poles, guy lines, fill the air mattress, and, if you’ve been completely focused on comfort, you toss your pillows into the tent. If you’re lucky, there will be a little breeze whistling through the treetops to help you fall asleep. Much better than an app.

Wishing you peace and happiness. And good health.